The Escalation's Key
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: A series of short stories about Mirage and Syndrome's relationship.
1. All Brain, Baby

**AN: **Mirage and Syndrome weren't always a pair. I wanted this to be all a oneshot, but it seems better to separate some of the happenings. They're becoming my favourite pairing.

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**The Escalation's Key**

**-**

One: All Brain, Baby

**-**

He's been checking her out since Day One and she's hardly noticed, which, of course, makes him even more attracted to her. She's wrapped up in her own thoughts and feelings, and she's sexiest when she contemplative, that's his opinion.

Of course, on Monday, he thought to himself _'she's sexiest when she's smiling' _and last Saturday, he swore she was the most gorgeous when she was biting her lip, one eyebrow raised.

This is, **of course**, simply a physical attraction, he tells himself, because nothing will ever come of it. It's inappropriate, firstly—she's his employee, and aren't there soap operas about this sort of thing? And second, he's—well—a nerd, sort of.

'_I prefer the term 'geek',' _he always declares mentally when he has to assess his own actions and likes. _'Nerds laugh funny. I'm cutting edge. I'm RPG, I'm weapons, I'm all brain, baby.' _He laughs at this. _'I'm all brain, baby.' _It makes him snigger.

'_I'm all brain, baby.' _Like it's sexy; in a voice like it's a sexy thing. He loves doing voices—this one's all sultry, the kind he'd use if ever given the opportunity to whip off a silken robe to expose his manhood.

'_All brain, yeah, you like that? Heh.'_

Except, he's quite certain Mirage is the type of girl who goes for _all brawn, baby. _He's not sure why, but usually the real skinny girls like tall, dashing men. And he's quite short. But he _could _be dashing, if she'd give him the time of day.

It's not that she _ignores _him. _'Nah.' _It's her job to dote upon him, to press buttons and answer commands and deliver messages and take out lunch and say _'This is Mirage. Can I transfer you to Syndrome? Syndrome! I have Harvey on line one!" _and be (generally) polite.

She even _laughs _at his jokes. She might even like the voices he does, but he'll have to test that theory. She's not impatient, unlike other beautiful women he's seen. She doesn't say _'kay, is that all?' _and snap gum.

Mirage is a different sort of being. He likes her because, based on appearance, one might label her as weak, delicate, or paltry. He might have even misjudged her, but he refuses to recall. She is _not _submissive. She is strong-minded and tells him her opinions often, and even if he doesn't like what she has to say (_"The hair's a little high today, boss."), _he respects her word. He likes that in a woman, he's decided this. Or maybe, he just likes that in Mirage.


	2. Too Skinny

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Two: Too Skinny

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'_Oh my god,' _she thinks, blushing. _'He's doing the Southern-twang thing again.' _She tries not to giggle, because giggling throws off her cool manner, and giggling is girly, stupid, and _not _something Syndrome would be attracted to. Not that it would matter, of course.

For some reason, her boss is always doing voices, and she finds it hilarious. However, she's not sure if he's _aware _of it, not that he's insane, but he does a lot of things he's unaware of. Like staring at _her_. **Frequently.**

She's fairly certain he's unaware of that.

She focuses, instead, on a doodle she's doing. It looks like she's working, so it's all right. She's _never _off task, but lately, she's been dwindling. And the problem is him.

He's infectious. He's like a little kid. He's hyper.

She's suggested medication to him— he thought she was _kidding._

That very night, he would suggest dinner to her and she would think _he _was kidding, but that is another matter.

"You're very bright," she told him once, in her silky tone.

"Are you saying that because I'm young?" he challenged.

"You have a youthful appearance!" she protested, trying not to offend him. She's a few years older, and she tries not to make him feel underappreciated.

"It's the freckles!" he suddenly cried out and cowered, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking back and forth.

"_Sir?_"

"_Ohh_, what'll I _do?" _he sobbed.

"_Syndrome!"_

All at once, he straightened up and smiled. "Heh, that's one of my best." And he walked away.

Mirage could do nothing but blink.

She thinks herself boring. Not vibrant. She'd never do _voices_ or get excited over comic books or become obsessed with random people.

'_He thinks I'm boring,' _she told herself one morning when he forgot to greet her.

'_He's tired of me,' _she thought, when he reassigned her to another task.

As for the staring, she tells herself it's because she's too skinny.

She's not sure if he's the kind of masculine asshole who thinks women should be seen and not heard, so she keeps bringing up random topics and being forceful about them, to test him.

He seems fine with it. And this delights her.

'_Besides, he's not really fit for me. He's too smart. He's not athletic.' _she thought, still doodling. _'But he's rich… smart… Except… He's kind of nerdy.'_

She internally kicked herself in the head.

She knows he's always inventing things. She's afraid he's going to read her thoughts.

And maybe he does.


	3. Dialogue

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Three: A Dialogue

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"Mirage."

"Yes, Syndrome?"

"Not to interrupt your design or anything, but, got anything—uh.."

"Excuse me?"

"Got any?"

"Got any _what_?"

"Oh _man._"

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

He wondered why this was difficult.

"I," he began," am talking about you, about you and possibly me, and perhaps with dinner somewhere in there."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah, I was getting to that. I'll take you out."

"Great."


	4. Clearly Inappropriate

--

Four: Clearly Inappropriate

--

She paces around the room that's been assigned to her. The blank walls stare at her as though judging her. She doesn't need that, she's sick of everyone judging her.

And now _Syndrome _wants to take her out to dinner?

_'It's got to be a joke,' _she decides, and tries to remember whether or not he was using a funny voice when he asked her. She doesn't think so.

"He's your _boss_," she tells herself out loud. She runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. "Don't be inappropriate—be business-like!"

She runs her eyes over the collection of dresses, tops and suits in her closet.

"Can't go wrong with the black dress," she comments and strips, stepping into it and shimmying through it.

She stares in the mirror, and then pulls at the front roughly.

Some cleavage shows now.

She thinks this necessary.


	5. Buddy, Buddy, Buddy

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Five: Buddy, Buddy, Buddy

--

Syndrome cracks his knuckles, although he's never been good at that. Instead of a good, firm _crack, _all he can manage ever is a _crick. _He figures it's because he's physically weak and he hangs his head in shame, just for the fun of it. He snickers darkly.

Checking his watch, he wonders where Mirage is. She's two minutes late. **Two minutes late! **

He laughs again, this time more nervously. No, scratch that. _'I'm not nervous.' _

Except, this is like some really sick, twisted RPG or video game in which the goal is to attract the beautiful corporate woman and somehow get her into bed, except he doesn't want to think like that, because that's weird and very disrespectful. Yeah, like some sorta Hentai RPG, where everything is about sex and flirtation. Funny, but ultimately, _wrong._

And he doesn't just want to _get her into bed. _

(He wants to take her out to dinner first.)

Sometimes Syndrome amuses himself by hanging upside down in his rocket boots. He also plays I Spy with himself and gives himself long lectures about life.

In short, he has no trouble amusing himself.

So why does he keep checking his watch?

Buddy's embarrassed for him, but, as Syndrome grins, he realizes that Buddy is simply jealous. Buddy could never have asked out a woman. And that's why Buddy had to be sent away.


	6. Super dee Dooper

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Six: Super-dee-Dooper

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**Finally, **Mirage met him in the lobby and they made small talk in one of the limos and discussed who the next Super would be to 'fight' the Omnidroid.

And then, over braised trout, asparagus tips with lime, and light salads, they discovered that they were not so different, and also that they were complete opposites.

"My super power is definitely snore-worthy," she declared, rolling her eyes.

"No, you gotta tell me!" he said rampantly. "I wanted to ask when they hired you, but I figured it might be rude."

She instantly felt grateful that he knew how naked it felt to be Super, even if he wasn't.

Mirage smiled and lowered her gaze to the table. "I'm only half so it's not really that strong. But sometimes, mostly when I'm in a state of emotion that is very deep, or in the same room as someone who's very emotional… I become what someone most wants. Well, an _image _of me does. It's very bizarre."

"_What_?" he demanded. He sounded ecstatic. "So, like… you are in _two _places."

"One is me and one is—"

"A _Mirage!" _Syndrome basically screamed.

"Precisely. It's so stupid."

"Nah, it's awesome. I thought your hair was the extent of the power, and even that's wicked."

She touched her white-blond strands of hair lightly and smiled at him, her dimples showing.

"I want to see your power," he stated firmly.

She flushed because he didn't know what he was saying.

"Are you enjoying dinner?" he asked later.

"Of course," she lied. She hated fish. And she couldn't believe the bill.

He wondered if she was impressed by how much he was spending on her.

'_I could impress you even more than that. More than dinner. I'd buy anything for you,' _he thought stupidly. He knew that was an unhealthy thing to think.

But he wanted her to be interested.

He wanted to see her super power.

Supers were awesome, revenge or not. An obsession is an obsession. Hate is close to desire. They're both tough, harsh feelings. Someone like _Mister Incredible _would declare hate wrong, desire fine.

Syndrome knew now. They were basically the same thing.


	7. Double Shot

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Seven: Double Shot

**-- **

"I don't believe in dating, and I don't believe in love," he tells her later. He suggested that they go out for espresso, and she didn't want to be rude, even though he'd spent nearly two hundred dollars on dinner.

He likes his frankness. He likes the fact that he's saying edgy, inhumane things that are frowned upon in society. He likes that.

She nods rigidly. "Dating's immature. I don't really need another person to make me feel whole."

He's a little disappointed in her answer. He wanted her to gaze at him in concern. Or pity him, or something.

"Right, yeah, I agree," he says with a wave of the hand. "Another green tea latte?"

They both agreed that dating was dire. They mocked it together and deemed it unworthy.

So, naturally, they were dating by the next week.


	8. Guilty

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Eight: Guilty

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She doesn't want it to be so obvious that they're interested romantically in each other, but now they're inseparable. She doesn't want him to think she's using him, or that she's trying to get ahead in the corporate world.

But those designer earrings he bought her?

Those were a nice plus.


	9. The Kissing Type

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Nine: The Kissing Type

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"We're growing our own veggies," he says in a voice reminiscent of John Lennon's. "We're New Age, man."

She starts giggling quietly, and then laughs out loud.

He kisses her right then, without thinking, because he's been known to over-analyze situations, thus ruining the so-called 'moment.' Yeah, he kisses her boldly but not quite _passionately_—kissing passionately has to come with experience, and he hasn't got much yet.

Mirage's smile falls off her face; she's sort of shocked. Syndrome never seemed like the kissing-type to her. He was too self-involved to touch another human being. He was fine on his own, independent. Although here they both are. It's been about six days since the dinner date, and they're still acting very ungainly.

He's touching her cheek with one hand. This action would become his signature. She'd know he was going to kiss her once his hand touched her face from then on. It's a tender movement for such a cynical man. Either that, or he's just forceful.

Right now, it's new and his intentions don't matter quite yet.

Mirage is cold for a few moments and then, she presses her own lips to his.

Syndrome is surprised, although he'd _never _admit it. He thinks this is some sort of dream.

And dreams always end, so he quickly pulls away from her.

"I guess—I wasn't thinking," he states rashly, and gives a short chortle.

Mirage's eyes widen just a bit. She should have known their fate right at that moment, but she watched him as he left the room with only a little bit of shame. She believes in him and she understands that he's busy.

He gives her a raise later that day.


	10. Have You Done You Know?

--

Ten: Have You Done You Know?

--

It's been about a month now, and they've grown closer almost immediately. Now Syndrome addresses her as "sweetheart", "hon", and "baby" and she actually _likes _it. She's allowed to view his weapon designs and new inventions. She's really on her way to the top, but she tells herself not to think like that.

She's also beginning to love him (or so she thinks; she doesn't try to ponder it often) , and this is a bad, bad thing. Syndrome doesn't believe in love, so she _can't _love him. He will not love her back.

'_Don't love him!' _she tells herself repeatedly throughout the day.

Ah, if only emotions listened.

'_Don't love him—he doesn't love you, and he's a nerd, you've really done much better than this.'_

But, really, **has she**?

"Sweetheart, what's a'matta?" he asks, in an Italian brogue. And then: "No really, seriously, you look troubled." He does that. Anything for a joke, a simper, a smirk, a pun.

"I'm _not_," she insists, shrugging.

"O-kaaay, but if you _are_…"

"I'm **not**," she says, more loudly. "I'd tell you if I was!"

"All right, okay," he declares. "Geeze."

"I'm _not _mad at you, Syndrome! Don't be touchy!" she commands.

Suddenly, a playful look takes hold of his blue eyes.

"Really? You _don't _want me to be touchy?" he asks, and runs a cautious hand through her silvery tresses. It's been a month, and he's been wanting to move further than the occasional quick-peck in the hallway every night. He wants to make certain she's _serious_-- about him, the job. But mostly him.

"Syn—do you _think _this is an okay time?" Her heart skips a beat. She doesn't want to be seen as The Woman Who Fools Around With the Boss.

"No one's gonna come in, I mean, unless you… don't… want…?" he trails off, ending without saying what he's referring to, _you don't want me_, that's what he means, and it was Buddy saying that, because Syndrome's not concerned about what _other _people think, at least that was the idea at the time. His freckles are running together in a sort of blush, because, he's new at this and what if she said no? He finally has a _real _girlfriend, woman friend, whatever you want to call her, but what if she doesn't even want to have _sex _with him? He really wouldn't be surprised although he wouldn't admit it, because in his heart, he's still the little dork who is destined to be a virgin until the age of five hundred and three.

"Of course I want…" she insists, even though she doesn't quite know what she wants, or what he was referring to. She guesses he meant that she doesn't want them to be a couple, oh but she's wrong. He's way ahead of _that. _

"Have you done…?" he inquires, trailing off yet _again_.

Her eyes become a little wider. "Have I _what_?"

"Have you…" his eyes go from side to side. "_You _know."

She clears her throat. "What?"

"Look, just tell me if you have had sex or not!" he bursts out.

She's _really _flustered now. _'He wants to have sex with me… Here? In the lobby?' _"I—yes," she manages to get out, but she can't look at him.

"Oh." He's very disappointed. It isn't that he believes in the whole Holy Virgin thing, but he really would have liked to have _some _sort of advantage.

"It wasn't… It was a few years ago. Since then, I haven't really _wanted _to have anything to do with men, at least romantically. He was older, he was really _not _what I was looking for."

"Oh," Syndrome says again. "You _still _don't like men?"

"It's not like that. I'm not that sort of-- I like **you**," she tells him quickly. "Don't worry about him. It didn't mean anything."

"Okay," he said again, a bit dejectedly. He wants to know more about this 'older' man. _'Was he a Super? Was he handsome?'_

"We can't in here," she informs him.

"We can't?"

"I mean, that couch has had all _kinds _of people sitting on it. Do you really want to—"

"I guess… not." In reality, he really doesn't care much.

"So, come on," she says, and she leaves the room, her heels clacking on the floor.

He follows.

Mirage is not a _couch _type of lover. She believes that she deserves something better than that. After all, she's not some sort of slut who can just adapt anywhere. She's pristine, not the stuff of dirty public restrooms or classrooms or floors. She's chic apartments, bathtubs, water beds with silk comforters.

He'll take her anywhere he can get her.


	11. A Nerd to Fear

--

Eleven: A Nerd To Fear

--

…And now, he's opening the door of his room.

"My _pad," _he declares, swiping the air energetically, and then looks to her face for a reaction.

At once, she's concerned.

His room is expansive, freshly decorated in modern furniture—all metals and blacks. There are shelves lining the walls, filled with action figures, books, magazines, and imitation weaponry. Video games are placed neatly in a glass case—these are closest to her and she scans the titles: **Blood Wars**, **Generation KILL**, **Massacre Madness**.

She realizes now that he's a nerd to fear. It's all backwards. She _should _have realized that when she started working there; witnessing him make plans to kill Supers daily, and now two are _dead_. For some reason, she didn't care about that and she still doesn't. But violent video games? Billions of them?

To her, that's sort of _weird_.

Her mouth hangs open a little when she notices the posters. Scantily-clad girls holding machine guns with blood spatters on their mouths and thighs on one wall; Blazestone posing erotically in another poster.

He's got Elastigirl and Vectress figurines, and a Stormicide action doll, and Mirage doesn't think they were _ever _meant to be in the poses they are in now.

"Interesting," she says slowly. She's not certain how to act. _Is this how he thinks of **her**? _A super-sleeze? An action figure, a sexy poster to worship but never really have? Something to _think _about? She feels totally sorry for him all at once, and maybe it makes her love him more.

"Ha, yeah, I have some really strange collections," he shrugs. _He _realizes he probably shouldn't have taken her here yet. She seems a little put off, and maybe it _is _distasteful. "Look, I'm not that much of a freak, I'm just a _collector._"

"I understand," she nods. She doesn't know what to do. On one hand, he's this brilliant genius who's going to reform the world soon—he's going to finally make everyone equal. She thinks that's noble and crafty. Yet, on the other hand, he's just this little kid with lots of toys. (That happen to be violently and sexually explicit.)

Syndrome shifts his weight uncomfortably. "I'm a geek. You knew that all ready." _'She's got some sort of look in her eyes-- I don't know what that is. She's having a panic attack! I **knew **I should have taken down the Pretty in Pain poster!' _He's chastising himself energetically.

"I--…" Mirage isn't sure what to say. She definitely does not want to make him feel bad. She respects him. "Is it just because I'm Super?" she asks, finally.

"Is _what _just because you're Super? My attraction to you?" he inquires.

She nods.

He laughs.

She cringes.

"Ah, come on, Mirage! No way! You are _hot_. You're beautiful, and smart, and—you're way beyond Super!" he tells her, his eyes brimming with truth. "You were hot the second you _got _here. To heck with the rest—they're _dead _to me."

Mirage's cringe becomes a gentle smile. His words have made their way straight to her heart, to her core. Saying nothing, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply, passionately.

He's a little taken aback at first, but then he runs his hands down her back and presses them against her bottom. This goes on for quite a few minutes, until Mirage steps away to unbutton her suit to reveal sleek, black undergarments.

"_Whoa_," Syndrome utters, watching her with heightened interest.

And then, suddenly, he sees something out of the corner of his eye. He turns to the left, and on his bed is a _very _seductive looking Mirage. She's wearing spikes and lifting one leg up in the air.

"What the—" he whips around to where she was just undressing and she's still there. The image on the bed is gone.

Mirage rolls her eyes. "Behold my super power," she says.

"Awesome," he asserts. Completely useless or not, he wouldn't mind seeing _that _again.

She has to motion for him to undress; he's too caught up in the moment.

He swallows. "I—I'm not sure I'll _know…_"

"You'll figure it out."


	12. Didn't Wouldn't Couldn't

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Twelve: Didn't. Wouldn't. Couldn't.

--

Mirage really didn't mean for this to happen. When she started work on the Island, it was because she wanted to provide for herself, and be able to work beside Syndrome-- the man who had a brilliant plan for the future. _Beside _was the key word at the time, not _on-top-of. _

Syndrome didn't _think _this would happen. When Mirage was hired, he saw her as a colleague; he saw a sharp, hard-working woman who believed in his plan. He also was interested in what was going on inside of her. He didn't think he'd _be _inside of her.

He was happy enough on his own. She told herself she was, too.

The tables were turning very, very quickly. The boots were being pulled off, the black disguise forgotten-- the result was revealed freckles she'd never seen, interesting twists, turns and crevices. Bare, but somehow not naked like her.

She was even thinner than before. She looked bow-legged and cold and out of natural instinct, he pulled her to him in a fumble, almost like it was an accident. He felt bulky and awkward compared to her-- she was all straight lines and curves at once, and this made him want to protect her even though he knew she wasn't one for heroes, thank _god. _He wondered if she'd ever been _hurt, 'like, real, real, hurt' _because he figured it would be easy to break all of her bones in one furious swipe. And this makes him pull her closer with a gentle nature he never knew he had.

Mirage's face seemed to be set in stone. She wondered how she always managed to get this feeling of both sexual excitement and hopelessness, all at once. All at once. Was this time different? It _felt _different. Because he was different.

She didn't _want _to be here, but something told her she _needed _to be. She had to _attend _to him and she had to do a good job of it. After all, she was still his employee. Just working _under him_ from day one.

"Lie down," she said.

"I don't want to kill you," he returned, reddening-- it sounds funny, but he's serious. She's just so little.

"That's why you have to lie down," she told him, her dimples showing. She knows what's next and she's willing because she believes he needs it.


	13. You're on the Right Side, Baby

--

Thirteen: You're on the Right Side, Baby

--

And now, a few seconds later, they're in far more interesting poses then the action figures Buddy Pine collected.

He's lying, back down, on his bed, and he's moaning.

Mirage is perched on top of him and she's rocking back and forth.

_"Uh, uh, uh," _she breathes.

Every few seconds, he raises upward and she gives a little squeal.

The speed increases and she's panting and crying out, her hair bouncing over her shoulders.

He's saying all sorts of things, none of them perceivable.

And after only two minutes, he rises up considerably and shouts something, and she cries out, falling to his side.

A stretch of time passes.

"Too quick?" he asks.

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry."

"No! It's absolutely fine."

"I guess I just—"

"I understand."

She sits up and rummages around for her panties. It's sufficiently awkward until Syndrome grabs her arm.

"Next time," he says," I'll be improved."

She can't help but kiss him.

This is why she feels she's chosen the right side.

Super heroes are all about the _past_—who they couldn't save, the building that crashed down, the tree that got damaged.

But Super Villains?

They're all about _next time. _

Syndrome gives his **all **fixing, and re-fixing, and re-thinking the Omnidroid. He's given his **all **working on the island, and his designs and his identity.

He's a Super Villain, and he's certainly going to give her a better run _next _time. That's for sure.

'_To Hell with heroes and their broken promises. Everyone's horrible. It just takes a villain to admit it.' _

"Next time," he promises, and she forgets about the panties, and lies there beside him for nearly two hours, until he decides they'd better get back to work.

She complies.


	14. BackUp Plan

--

Fourteen: Back-Up Plan

--

He might have been embarrassed for a short time, but of course, coming too quickly is better than never having sex at all.

And he's going to keep his promise. As soon as he had time, he cleared a space in his office and took out paper, pens, rulers, and a calculator.

He murmured words to himself like "friction", "speed", "tactic" and estimated Mirage's exact height. He drew diagrams and scribbled notes.

He was determined to give her something a bit better. He had been too focused on the fact that this was _him _and she was _Mirage. _And Mirage was someone he never thought he'd fuck.

No matter.

Syndrome wasn't all too concerned about that. They'd done it.

They'd _done _it.

Part of him was totally geeking out.

The other half was a bit perplexed.

If he had friends, he would tell all of them—he was so proud of himself.


	15. Second Thoughts

--

Fifteen: Second Thoughts

--

Mirage tried to focus on typing, but there were certain _feelings _stopping her thought process. The first one was physical— she couldn't change position quickly, we'll keep it at that.

The second one was mental. She couldn't place what she was experiencing.

She and Syndrome had had sex.

It had been short, but it had happened. She couldn't take it back, or re-play it, or over-analyze it.

She wanted him to be interested in her, but at the same time, she didn't want to be the "employer's piece of ass."

She bit her lip, and put her head down upon the keyboard.

If she had friends, she wouldn't tell _any_ of them-- they wouldn't understand.


	16. Red Sharpie Pen

--

Sixteen: Red Sharpie Pen

--

It's been two days since The Incident, as she has dubbed it.

She's been avoiding him, and he's obviously been avoiding her, because they haven't seen each other since The Incident.

However, when Mirage returns from a break, there's a note on her desk.

It's written in what seems to be a large, red, sharpie pen and it's in all capitals. It makes the note seem as though it's screaming.

_YOU GET OFF AT FIVE TODAY._

_SO MEET ME IN THE DINING ROOM._

Mirage wears an expression somewhere between a frown and a brilliant grin. She'll wear that more than her favorite navy suit in the months to come.


	17. Nasty

--

Seventeen: Nasty

--

"You should have told me you were a vegetarian," he declares, as she enters the room.

She stops. "How did you-"

"Mirage, you eat tofu and carrot sticks for lunch when you _do _eat. It's kinda obvious. Anyway, I wouldn't have taken you to that seafood place if I'd known, and you didn't have to choke it down."

"I know."

"Then why did you? You should have told me."

"I didn't want to be ungrateful."

"Oh, please," he smiles, rolling his eyes. "I don't want to kill you," he says, again.

Funny, how she takes that statement to heart, and will later feel incredibly betrayed.

Mirage smirks and seats herself at the end of the table, which has been set with the best of the silverware. Upon her plate is an interesting concoction of tofu, noodles, and shoots.

"How did you know I like stir fry?"

"It was a good guess, I guess," he tells her, shrugging.

There's silence.

She speaks up. "Look, I was unprofessional the other day. Maybe it's my weakness—I don't know, but whatever it is, I don't want you to think less of me—"

"Think _less _of you?" And then, there's that somewhat-maniacal laugh.

(Those who work under villains get used to it.)

"Sweetheart," he begins," I like, worship you." _'Yeah, that sounded good. That sounded perfect.'_

"_Really?" _she says incredulously, crossing her arms.

"For real. I don't think you're—easy? Is that what you mean? Naw, I don't think like that. Besides, we're kinda together, right?"

"Kind of, yes." That frown-smile.

"Well, then, it's entirely appropriate, then."

'_Do you mean it?' _she wonders. "If you're just holding onto me because of that, though… I'm a career woman, I'm not—"

--"You're the best worker here. Don't sweat it."

"Thank you."

Silence.

"The next one to go has _got _to be Vectress. We've got her location, and now it's just a matter of getting her here."

"Are you offering the case to me?"

"You're first pick."

Nastily enough, she's very delighted.


	18. The Game

--

Eighteen: The Game

--

"BAM! DEAD!" he screams excitedly from inside the viewing booth.

It's the best game he's played in his whole life. Better than Mercy, Blood Tied, Generation KILL. It might even be better than Pretty in Pain, but that had _a lot _of chicks getting bloody and rolling around on top of each other… so… Judgment must be reserved until later levels.

Each level's a bit harder, and you've gotta stay hidden, that's the key. It's a top secret mission, and you've got to keep it quiet, stay hidden under your Normal Name, Buddy Pine. Weapons designing, an awesome office… It's wonderful.

Your goons aren't good in the intellect area, but they'll score you major time. And one of them dies, it's all right. You've got enough to cover you.

The beautiful secretary will escort the opponents into the battle field—she's saucy and speaks highly of your achievements; no geek could hate her—she's one of the best video game women ever created. You also score points by making her happy, and getting her to go further with you.

You get to watch and then improve your beast to better suit the next Super.

The game is insane.

And _so _real.

Yeah, it's just so incredibly real.

Syndrome laughs as the Omnidroid crushes Vectress' all ready ruined body.

"I am _so _going to win," he says. "Who can we fight next?"


	19. Like You

--

Nineteen: Like You

--

Mirage is smiling to herself as she wanders down one of the expansive hallways. Life is good; life is _great. _The mission is moving smoothly and greatly, and she's moved up from secretary to personal assistant, from personal assistant to second-in-command.

He buys her silk pajamas and jewelry and designer purses. He's understanding and funny and real.

And then, all of a sudden, an arm grabs her around the middle and pulls her backward.

She gives a short outtake of breath until her brain takes in and makes sense of what's happening.

"_Syndrome," _she says, excitedly.

"Mirage," he says, against her neck. "Last time was pathetic."

"I know."

"You don't have to agree."

She laughs. "If you make a true statement, I _have_ to agree!"

"Come here, _you!" _he shouts out, and makes imprints on her neck but she freezes up.

"Syn—_Syn, what if someone sees? There are enough cameras in this place!"_

"Baby, if one of those assholes says _anything, _and I mean **anything**, I will go Medieval on him faster than—than—"

"Faster than you climaxed last time?" she offers, blushing at the harshness in which she's speaking, blushing when her punishment is him hoisting her off the ground and into his arms, turning her around to face him.

It seems now they're suddenly themselves—not embarrassed or quiet. They're together because they're both stubborn, really. Stubborn and angry, and they both feel underused by everyone on earth.

"You're really being cruel," he says.

"Your freckles are cute," she shrugs, her legs wrapping around his torso, her middle feeling the hardening width of him beneath the spandex.

"I really like your accent," he tells her.

"Thank you."

He's half-running backwards, half-tumbling backwards, to find somewhere to stand—his back finds the wall and collides with a loud thump.

She's glad she wore the short skirt that she hates today, because he's wrenching it upward with a sort of nerd-fury, the sort of determination that can be witnessed in arcades and comic book conventions.

"I usually don't do things this way," she's explaining.

"Well, neither do I," he returns, almost apathetically, as though this is a normal predicament. He's odd that way—he never really shows surprise, or expresses fear or concern, but it's there, somewhere.

He swears loudly at himself for making it so difficult to remove his pants, and then she hangs onto his neck and they really go at it for the first time, really.

It's over in four minutes this time, but it no longer matters.

"How did you…?" she inquires, sighing. It was _way _better.

"I _told _you next time'd be good. I like doing my homework," he says.

And right then, she knows she's in danger of being in_ double_-love with him.

She snuggles onto his shoulder. "I like _you_, Syndrome. You brilliant, little geek."

He grins. Those are magical words.

And in the security division, the guards are hooting at Camera 309.

"Yeah!" they're cheering. "Boss got game!"


	20. A Very Villainous Kitchen

--

Twenty: A Very Villainous Kitchen

--

What occurs the next morning becomes commonplace. They wake up together, but don't necessarily get out of bed at the same time. Mirage is usually up before Syndrome, and that morning is no exception. She wakes up looking beautiful, but still applies makeup, "morning makeup", she calls it, it's not quite heavy-duty.

He looks innocent—_almost--_ in the morning: blinking, muttering, making absolutely no sense. (She'd never tell him that.) Although he favors black pajamas, she half- expects him to don colorful kiddie p.j.s.

Syndrome's lair, as it were, is actually quite beautiful, in contrast to the rest of the place which is sort of drab, like a hospital.

It's behind the lavawall (as they called it, you have to say it fast, _lavawall_), and above the master computer. It's modern, all posh furniture and polished wood and vintage comic art.

The small kitchen is shiny and full of contraptions, the latte maker being the most loved of all of the appliances. The pantry is well-stocked with strange goodies like miso paste, coffee-flavored energy drinks, Korean candy, and after Mirage begins spending more time with him, it soon fills up with staples like rice, dry peas, and soup mixes.

The expansive, silvery fridge is home to all sorts of food. For Mirage, it holds vegan take-out, tofu, tortillas and all sorts of spices and sauces.

Syndrome's share of food is decidedly more unhealthy, though hardly anyone could out-health Mirage. He keeps cakes, brownies and ingredients to make sandwiches on hand because he has no attention span. White bread, jelly and peanut butter are _his _staples. He used to favor bologna, but when Mirage 'moved in', she declared that it had to go. He doesn't say no to the organic peanut butter that shows up in the fridge, courtesy of her. He lives on snack foods, and he favors oven-baked macaroni and cheese, so mostly, they eat out when they feel like being passionate.

Mirage thanks her lucky stars that Syndrome is uninterested in alcohol. She's seen pills around, yes, and she hasn't asked him about them yet (_pills in the fridge, pills in the bathroom, pills, pills_). No alcohol, though, and this makes her feel relieved. She's been smashed a few times, and it's never ended well, especially when she's been around men who drink.

No, Syndrome's no drinking man, even if he gets a bit jittery after drinking his overly-sugared coffee.

On this particular morning, he wakes up around six a.m. and wanders to the kitchen, where Mirage has the news on and is sipping coffee.

"Morning," she says.

"Morning," he says. He starts smiling.

_"What?" _She taps her toes against the counter.

"Nothing. Well—it's just… You survived."

It takes her a moment to realize what he's indicating. "Yes," she returns. "Three times."

"Yeah. _Three _times," he sighs, and pauses, blissfully.

"Even though, you know, that only totaled about five minutes and thirty seconds," she says smoothly, giving a little wink.

"You're horrible."

"Mmm, am I? You shouldn't have me here, then."

"No, no, no, don't be that way."

Mirage is a tease.

And Syndrome is slightly turned on.

Again.

And this will be part of their undoing, because she's enjoying the look of complete intoxication on his face. (She keeps hers hidden, and so she's safe for now.)

"It wasn't _bad, _was it?" he asks in passing, opening the fridge and rummaging around for something easy, like always.

"It was dismal," she smirks.

"Ouch."

"That's _my _line."

"What? Did I leave a mark?"

"More like a scar."

_"I've always wanted to leave a scar,"_ he chides.

At his tone of voice, Mirage winces a little bit.

"Kidding," he says, and makes toaster waffles.

She raises her eyebrow.

_"Weee, syrup_," he mutters to himself, making the bottle fly.

She pretends she's not watching.

The conversation turns to work, and all of the chemistry is sucked out of the air just as quickly as it came.


	21. Play It Again

**AN: **Thank you for the amazingly helpful and fun reviews so far! Just a warning that the rating's going to be bumped up to M soon... but I think we all may have seen it.. er.. coming.

--

Twenty-One: Play It Again

--

It's three a.m., but Mirage is typing loudly. Syndrome awakes out of habit and drags himself down the stairs to find something to eat. He gets paged:

**Are you awake?**

"What _is _it, sweetheart?" Syndrome yawns, entering the lab, where Mirage looks frantic. She's viewing one of the videos from the security camera number three-hundred and twenty.

She sighs hugely. "I _knew they'd talk," _she spits out vehemently.

"What?" He leans against her shoulder. "Turn up the volume and play it again," he orders.

She shakes her head.

"Do it."

"I don't—"

"Play it _again_," he commands, and reaches in front of her. He types with one hand, and she looks away.

It's four of the guards, in one of the break rooms.

They're sitting around laughing and joking.

About Mirage.

"I want a piece of her now. If he can fuck her, I want her. Damn."

"Can you imagine how tight she is?"

"Yeah, hahaa. Damn, if _Syndrome _got some, I know she'd take me."

"He's in charge, though. She doesn't want a nobody."

"Can you be so sure?"

"I don't care. I want some of _that _pussy—I haven't had any since I started here!"

"I've been looking at _her _since she got hired. Lucky bastard."

"I would've beaten him up in high school."

"We'd better get back to _work._"

Mirage hits **stop **and shudders.

"Oh hellz no," Syndrome says, and he leaves the room.


	22. Meanie

--

Twenty-Two : Meanie

--

"You didn't have to _kill _them."

"Uh, _yeah _I did. They practically insulted everything I give a damn about. Besides, I didn't like how they were talking about you."

"That happens, Syndrome. I could have coped."

"_I _couldn't have."

"Either way, you could have found a better way to kill them."

"Hey, I needed to test those expanding grenades!"

"The grenades were not so bad, but—"

"Aww, come on! You gotta admit that the machete was totally cool."

"It was sort of bloody."

"They deserved it."

"You're mean."

He kisses the top of her head.

"You are, too."

As soon as he turns away, she bites her lip and nods to herself. She tries not to smile.


	23. Makes Her Feel So Good

--

Makes Her Feel So Good

--

Mirage should have known. She should have used her sense. She should have said no.

'_No. I don't think I'll take the job, thank you,' _she should have exclaimed, should have shaken her head, should have been upset when she learned what the job entailed, should have had better judgment.

But she took the job, she was excited, she didn't give a _shit _that people were dying—it was part of a bigger picture, she majored in criminal law—she could understand, she was crafty and cunning and so much more than a callous _bitch_.

She was better than the goons and she knew it and they knew it. She was more than a callous bitch because she was driven and insensitive and radiant and intelligent and she was right up there with the prestige of being an awful prick with different equipment.

She was mean.

She'd always used her super powers for bad; she'd defended criminals as a lawyer, and as a lawyer, she'd slept with her clients when she felt like it. Criminals were people, after all.

However, she might have had more heart than she wanted to believe. She'd gone out of her way to avoid having to defend child rapists and kiddie-killers. She didn't think anything of this and she didn't think it would have _anything _to do with her present relationship.


	24. Mr Incredibly Disappointing

AN: I probably had _way _too much fun with this one. Thanks for the reviews!

--

Mr Incredibly Disappointing

--

"You're shaking," she says, one day in the containment unit, where Syndrome is working out the kinks in the electric prisons.

He shrugs. He's got his tongue half-way out of his mouth like a kid doing homework. "I don't know what you mean," he says back to her snappishly, but his jaw shakes as he speaks.

Mirage shrugs back. If he's not concerned, then she doesn't need to care.

It's been a year since the operation started, and three months since they've been "shackin' up", as Syndrome calls it (using that biting Southern accent, of course).

"So, I'm extremely interested in the irony of you," Mirage comments simply, shaking her bangs out of her face.

"Oh, yeah?" She doesn't notice when he drops his notepad onto the floor, spilling out pens, papers, ideas.

"Yes. You are completely in love with all of the Supers, yet we're destroying them. Why?"

Syndrome pauses. Doesn't answer, instead, stoops to the floor and cradles the notebook.

"_Syn?" _

"Present."

"Well, _answer." _

"Sheesh, lady."

"Why are you being so mysterious?"

"It's sort of top secret."

"We exchange fluids on a weekly basis. Don't get technical with me; we're all ready too scientifically involved for that."

"Ha," he snorts. He can't argue. "All right, well, they aren't who they say they are."

Mirage turns to face him at this. "Of course they aren't, Syndrome, what do you think? They're going to cartwheel around telling everyone their secret identities?"

"That _isn't_ what I mean."

"Oh."

"They're fucked up, ruthless, cruel, nasty. They're us, Mirage. They're everyone, just with amazing powers!" The passion of a redhead is evident—Syndrome's cheeks are a furious crimson, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Well… I suppose I never thought about it that way."

"He was going to be the _best _Dad ever. He wasn't," mutters Syndrome.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing!"

Mirage chortles succulently. "Boss, you need to start _thinking _your thoughts instead of _saying _them if you want to be mysterious."

"Probably."

"_Who _was going to be the best Dad ever?" she repeats.

Syndrome shrugs. "_Mr. Incredible_," he whispers.

Mirage can't help but snigger. "_The _Mister Incredible!?"

"Yeah, **so**?"

"You wanted him to be your _dad_?"

Syndrome's nearly fire-engine red now. "I was _ten_, all right? I was _ten _and I didn't have a dad and my mom was always ranting at me and calling me names, and I just thought he was really cool, and I _didn't—_I _couldn't _think that he was like every other dad in the world, just a selfish pro-creating bastard with no real sensitivity toward anyone—"

"You sound like a feminist," Mirage interrupts.

"I am **not **a _feminist!" _Syndrome declares.

"I'm _sorry." _

"Look, I'm attempting to tell you something monumental! Something no one else knows! And you're being a total **bitch **about it!"

Mirage's eyes darken. Her mouth becomes an angry slit and she folds her arms. "I'm all ears," she purrs dangerously.

"I didn't really mean that, you know."

"It doesn't _matter. _Just talk, if that's what you want."

"Aw, come on, sweetheart!"

"First I'm a _bitch_, now I'm a _sweetheart!? _Syndrome, I can't _follow _you. You're a hypocrite, but you aren't, you cancel everything out about yourself, and there's still things I don't understand."

He sighs. "I know. But sometimes I can't help it. I'm schizophrenic, developed it in high school. I've got some sort of mood disorder, or whatever. Plus, I'm a Gemini. I'm so screwed."

Mirage sighs back. "I'm _not _mad. And I guess now I can see why you're—"

"Fucked up?"

"No."

"Ridiculous?"

"No."

"Amazing?"

"No." She stands up. "Sad," she says.

"Heh heh, I'm not sad, babe."

"Whatever you say. What did Mr. Incredible _do_, anyway?"

Syndrome smiles strangely. "He was a person. He had flaws. And he told me to go away."

"He _told _you?"

"Yeah, it wasn't some sort of schizo-fantasy, if that's what you're getting at!"

"I wouldn't—"

"I wanted to help him, and he wouldn't let me. I would have been _great." _He pauses. "If a super is a super _hero, _then I don't think he should be allowed to be _anything _but good. Anything else is a lie, and doesn't that go against the whole _hero _persona?"

She walks toward him slowly and admires his boyish nature—the head cocked to the side, the dusting of freckles. She's been a lawyer, so she's always striving for _innocence. _

"You make a lot of sense, Syndrome. And I want you to know that I understand you. I won't abandon you like he did."

"Is that a promise?"

"Of course," Mirage tells him quickly, and honestly. Or so she thinks. "And thank you for telling me about your past. And your afflictions."

"Afflictions," he says. "They're what make me."

"Oh, and I'm a Virgo," she tells him with a smile.


	25. The Oral Tradition

**Rating's** changed. Now it's Mature. Yes, this is sort of a warning.

--

The Oral Tradition

--

It's now been _five _months since they've been "shackin' up" and a year and _two _months since The Operation began, and they've been through three Supers and some mildly amusing moments and everything's been pretty much hunky-dory, yeah, but things had to go to shit sometime, now didn't they?

Things had to get a little scary, after all, they are villains and their thoughts are mightily un-pure, but this is Mirage's weakness—she tries to see the logic in everything, but there's really no logic in Syndrome.

He seems one way, yes, oh, yet he's quite another. And he'd never lay a hand on her, though that fact doesn't mean he won't spend hours at night watching her sleep while wondering how hot it would be to hold her prisoner. To _hurt _her. (He blames it on the _pills_.)

They've been some interesting places—health food stores, plane rides— but this one _really _takes the cake. For one, he's standing, propped against the wall. She's kneeling. And she's wishing that _he _was in _her _place because he's putting a whole new meaning in _oral. _He won't shut up.

When she bit her lip sweetly and suggested the guest quarters and motioned to him to pull that spandex

_down, _his face lit up with unusual glee.

"No _way,_" he exclaimed. This was a moment Syndrome had been anticipating, if not subconsciously. Mirage just had the best mouth and the perkiest lips and the best can-do attitude.

And he really hadn't gotten over the excitement, because he _kept _saying things like _"Oh yeah!", "Ka-chow!", _and _"There it is!" _

Mirage has put herself in a very difficult position. She can't say anything back. She's really gone down to "that" level, and she knows it. Yet "that" level has its merits and at least she's getting some enjoyment, too, though she would have preferred stunned silence to this plethora of joyous outbursts.

However, she cannot do much except finish the job. Mirage is a go-getter, she's a take-action gal. She doesn't leave projects unfinished. And Syndrome's quickly rising member is most _definitely _a project. Bless her, she's a Virgo after all.)

She's pleased with herself when he crescendos with a rather violent **"yes!"**, leaving her smiling doe-eyed at him from the floor where she's so willingly placed herself.

"That was…" he stepped back a few paces, fumbling around for a moment, pulling his spandex pants back on. "..invigorating," he finished, with a calm smile, so calm in fact it's like a parallel version of his previous state. "Ya know, I really _should _give you a raise. No one else in this place ever does anything important." He grins. "That was amazing. See you later, maybe tomorrow. I've got some work to do."

The door shuts. He's gone.

Mirage is left on the floor, her mouth full, her heart wrought. _'It doesn't matter. You don't really care for him that much. This is **all **corporate, like he said.' _

Still

_'Important? The **hours **I spend taking messages, and investigating and interviewing, and I'm getting raises because I sleep with him and **suck him off**?' _

She spits, she doesn't care about the expensive carpet, if he makes any remark she'll tell him the mess is _his_ anyway.

_'I could have any man, and any **woman**, really, if I set my mind to it! If I left this job, I'd be swarmed, I'd be covered in lovers and admirers and all you'd have is your stupid island! I'm really nice to be here, I'm just really goddamn **nice**.' _

And maybe that's the entire point. Maybe she's nice and he's not. If _only _it were as simple as that. It all goes back to the operation, really. Super Heroes are bad because they're _supposed _to be nice. But Syndrome never promised Mirage _anything, _except when he said he'd keep her out of harm's way.

Syndrome never said he was nice.

And if Mirage could get any man and any woman, why was she on Nomansian Island? Why didn't she tell Syndrome to fuck off and just leave? She could return to defending.

Yet, there on the floor, Mirage realized that this wasn't corporate at all to her, and she was with Syndrome mostly because he was Syndrome (though the gifts were a nice bonus), and she didn't _want _to leave. This was her _life._

She was more dismayed with this thought than angry, yet she demanded vacation time and left the next morning.


	26. Bitter Candy

--

Bitter Candy

--

'_You're obviously winning her over,' _Syndrome thought to himself one night. Mirage was not present—she'd returned to her beachside apartment in the states. She needed some time to visit friends, or family. _'Or something.' _He didn't really know her reasoning, but she'd been working extremely hard, so of course, she was allowed to have vacation time.

He turned onto his side. It felt strange not having her there to make deliciously contemptuous comments, even though she only slept in bed with him once every few nights, or weeks. Usually, she'd leave within the night, making it something of a 'one night stand', except the next day, there'd be a board meeting, and Syndrome would undress her with his eyes and she'd inch her high-heeled foot across the floor.

It was a relationship of power, because no matter what, he was her boss. And he loved it that way. Total control.

"Sweet," he'd say," track Stormicide. I want _details_. I want _location. _I want her _here._"

"Hon, get on those files pronto," he'd say," I'm countin' on you."

No matter how right she was in any argument, he could say "Sweetheart, are you busy?"

**Her eyes might darken, and her hands might clench, but she'd do it, yeah, because she _worked _for him.**

'_She's a gem,' _he voiced mentally, putting his arm behind his head and propping himself up.

He was hardly ever tired.

His mind was too loud.

'_Really gorgeous, hot. Nice thighs, good legs, great screw—"_

He looked around, as if someone had screened his thoughts.

'_Naw, I mean… she's wonderful. Great… at… making… love?' _He struggled to put together what in the Hell he meant. He didn't want to sound like the workers who had made Mirage so upset. He snickered at his efforts.

'_Whatever, she's not here, besides, I can think what I want. She's totally a good screw. And she's into it, but if she wasn't—'_

He rolled over again

'_-- wouldn't really matter.' _

He's pumped, he's really pumped. Power trips are his specialty.

'_And she loves me.'_

Oh, _so _pumped.

'_Dang, I need to **sleep.'**_

He turns over again, clearing his throat loudly. He sits up.

"Gah, I need _sleep_. Where'd I put the _sleeping_ ones…?" he says aloud, and rummages around his bedside table. He finds a pill bottle, flips on the light, and studies the back. Apparently seeing it is the wrong one, he goes back to looking, and finds another bottle.

"'Adults and children over twelve, take only two per six hours.'"

Syndrome smiles darkly. "Yeah _right." _After he pops seven in his mouth like bitter candy, he turns out the light once more.


	27. The Man

--

The Man

--

Mirage tapped her French manicured nails against the solid, marble countertop. Her Chai tea latte sat untouched.

"_Espejismo_?"

"_Hmm_?" The white-blond looked up and smiled at the other woman, a twenty-something gal with dark long eyelashes and curly locks. "Sorry if I'm a little far off."

"Girl, you're in your own world. First you come here Tuesday in the middle of the night—you won't tell me where you're working, you really _are _a little mirage, no?"

The silvery haired woman gave a short smirk. _"Si. _It's government work, Fawn, you _know _I can't tell you."

"I'm your _friend, Espe, _I'd expect you to at least give some details as to why you're back in L.A. from The Islands, as you say, and you're not spilling." Fawn looked almost angry. "Come _on_. And you won't even go _out_. We could live it up like the old days, hit the dance scene."

Mirage flushed. "I don't think so."

"_Why?_ Tell me what's wrong!"

She pursed her lips and turned away, her eyes wide in the soft light of the flat.

"You came here for a **reason, **Espejismo. I want to know why." Fawn squinted her eyes. "There's not…" She made a Face.

"_What? A what?" _Mirage snapped.

"Not _all _ready?"

"What?"

"You have man troubles."

Mirage blinked. "I certainly wouldn't call it that."

"What would you _call _it?"

"I don't know. I just—I'm not a total whore, am I?"

"No!"

"Well, then, okay. That's all I needed to know."

"Heyheyheyhey, details!"

"I didn't come here for this, I came here to get away."

Fawn's expression darkened. "You _know _I won't settle. You'll make me worry. Is he some kind of criminal?"

"No, well, not really."

"Not a client?"

"No, he's… the boss."

Fawn chortled. "Okay, hey, that can be sexy."

Mirage rolled her eyes. "You're so stupid."

"Tell me! I'm imagining a guy sort of like Joshua, but not a total prick, older man, tall, totally buff—"

"You really need to work on your psychic abilities."

Fawn looked depressed. "Oh _damn. _You fell for some little white dude, didn't you?"

"Christ, Fawn."

"You _did. _Oh, man. Why did you _ever _leave?"

"It's not _that _simple of a situation!"

"We're supposed to say 'fuck the man'! And you're _fucking _the man! That's like, the opposite of what we're supposed to be doing."

Mirage lowered her head down. "I didn't come here to be berated."

"No one's judging you, it's actually kind of funny. I mean, there are hot white guys, and I totally trust you."

_'Maybe you shouldn't.'_

"Just don't let him take advantage for you. Don't succumb."

_'Oh my god, just stop talking.' _

"I'll bet he's something else."

_'Yes, especially if you like machine guns.' _

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," snapped Mirage. "I need to take a _walk._"


	28. Nuance

--

Nuance

--

Syndrome replays the message on his pager.

_"Mirage here. I did a little delving and saw I've accumulated two months of vacation time. I won't be gone that long, but I need to get away. You can contact me through email. I checked in with the security unit, and they said that this is a good time for me to take leave. I apologize for the short notice. I'll return Monday the twenty-seventh. Thanks for understanding, mm, bye." _

Mirage's sultry tone was sort of frozen, dead. She sounded bothered or terse, but Syndrome didn't know which fit her voice more. It was strictly a business call, not a _hey, remember me? I just gave you head in the guest suite!_ call.

_"Thanks for understanding, mm, bye." _

"What does it **meaaan!?" **

Leave it to Syndrome to have a delayed reaction of confusion and slight panic.

_"mm, bye." _

2 am and he'd suddenly just _wondered. _Do you know how it is to suddenly _wonder _and totally upset yourself?

_"Mirage here." _

Syndrome spent hours concocting thrilling little lies about why people did the things they did, why Dad was killed, why Dad never touched Mom, why Mom was a saccharine bitch.

Thing was, he could make up little tidbits about them but now that he was paying close attention to the phone call, and the fact that Mirage hadn't contacted him in _person _but through The Goons…

"Did I… do something _wrong?" _he wondered aloud.

Biff.

Pow.

Bang.

_Gasp. _


	29. Pinch

--

Pinch

--

"So what did this little white kid do wrong, honey?"

"I _said _I didn't want to talk about him, and he's _not _a kid, although he certainly acts like it often."

"He's your age, then?"

"Twenty two—"

"Cradle robber." Fawn tried not to laugh, and ended up snorting through her nose.

Mirage sighed. "I'm not an old _hag_, maybe I _shouldn't have come here." _But she smiles at this friend, the only friend she's kept, the only family, really. The rest think she's a skank, a bitch, a corporate slut, obsessed with greed and money, using her super abilities that were _supposed _to be kept under the table to win cases, getting sued. They didn't know where she was, and she couldn't care any less about where _they _were.

Fawn grins back. "Well, if you love him, you should go back to him."

"I don't _love._"

"Oh, yeah, I _forgot, Miss Freezing."_

"Well, I don't love _him_. He's—" Mirage didn't quite know how to describe _him, _how could she define Syndrome? If she said freckles, red hair, Fawn would crack up laughing. If she said dead-smart, Fawn wouldn't understand just _how. _Raving liberal, well, that wasn't clear, either.

Syndrome was Syndrome. Syndrome was many things, many blended attributes and voices and personalities, really.

"He's just a stupid fling," Mirage found herself saying, with a giggle. It had happened. She had said it aloud, and now she couldn't stop. "He's a nerd, he's a way to climb the corporate ladder, what can I say?"

Fawn seemed satisfied with the answer. "I know you. I love you. But, girl? You _are _venomous."

Mirage bit her lip so hard that it bled and she had to excuse herself to the bathroom, and she just looked at herself in the mirror and squeezed all of the blood out with a severe pinch of her nail.


	30. A Phone Conversation

--

A Phone Conversation

--

When her phone vibrates suddenly just before midnight, she's very unprepared for the harsh, loud tone on the other end.

"Uh, where _are _you? It's been nearly two weeks. And you didn't even clarify personally, Mirage. Where the hell are you?"

Her face pales as she grips her cell phone hard in her palm.

"_Who is it?" _Fawn asks, stupid, so stupid, Mirage realizes now how _stupid _it all is.

She holds up her hand to silence the woman. "I told Gary that—"

"Gary? Who the _hell _is Gary?"

Mirage simpers, and walks out on the veranda, her heart thumping. "Just some guy who _works for you_."

On the other end of the phone, Syndrome swivels around and around in his chair. "Yeah? They have names? They all look like they're related, so I don't know."

If Mirage didn't feel so terrible, she might have just started laughing. "Look, I'll be back soon, S—"

Fawn calls from inside: "It's _him, huh?"_

"Who's that?" Syndrome asks, and kicks a miniature of the omnidroid across the floor.

Mirage blanks out. "I—I.."

"Look, where _are _you? Los Angeles, that's what my sources tell me."

"Oh, you and your _sources," _bleats Mirage, her accent more apparent as she begins to speak more quickly. "Then why do you ask me?"

"Chill out," Syndrome tells her, and reads the prescription on the front of a pill bottle.

"Oh _damn it_. Don't tell me to _chill out._" Mirage is bold because she's across oceans. She can't see his face.

Syndrome senses this, (of course), and gives a short, biting cackle. "I'm still your boss, babe, I don't know what's wrong with you, female problems or something probably, but I want you back pronto, because I want you to do a search for Frozone, and I want _you. _I don't want Gary or his brothers, okay? You got that?"

_Click._

Mirage's heart drops into her stomach.

Syndrome grins and stretches back in his chair. "Play to win," is what he says.


	31. Home Now

--

Home Now

--

"You won't see much of me."

"Espe, are you _sure_ this job is you know…? _Okay?_

"It's fine. Don't worry."

"Are you _sure? _"

"I'm _sure! _Look, the plane's going to leave me behind." _'And then he'll get his sources to come kill me. Sources. What a crock.'_

"All right, but feel free to come back anytime."

"Sure, thanks."

Without even a hug, Mirage runs to catch her plane. She can't help but feel as though she's really going home now.


End file.
